Only page of title Very Easy
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5
Are drowned in a typhoon,
We feel a trifle shocked, perhaps,
But neither faint nor swoon.
'Dear me! How tragic! ' we repeat;
'Ah, well! Such things must be! '
Our ordinary lunch we eat
And make a hearty tea;
Such loss of life (with shame I write)
Creates no loss of appetite!
Two hundred souls, all told,
Are buried in an avalanche,
The tidings leave us cold.
'Poor fellows! ' we remark. 'Poor things! '
'All crushed to little bits! '
Then go to _Bunty Pulls the Strings_,
Have supper at the Ritz,
And never even think again
Of land-slides in the State of Maine!
Describes how Mr. Jones
Has slipped on a banana-skin
And broken sev'ral bones,
'Good Heavens! What a world! ' we shout;
'Disasters never cease! '
'What _is_ the Government about? '
'And _where_ are the Police? '
Distraught by such appalling news
All creature comforts we refuse!
And famines ravage Spain,
They move us not like some mishap
To a suburban train.
Each foreign tale of fire or flood,
How trumpery it grows
Beside a broken collar-stud,
A smut upon the nose!
For Charity (Alas! how true! )
Begins At Home -- and ends there, too!
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